


Take me to your best friend's house

by Abbie



Series: Leave Out All the Rest [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Amnesia, Asshole Ollie Queen, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument at Queen Consolidated, Ollie goes to Tommy's place to find out what the big deal is with Felicity Smoak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me to your best friend's house

Ollie got out of the car with a word to his bodyguard-cum-driver to stay in the car—Diggle’s jaw clenched, not happy about it, but he didn’t argue, for which Oliver was grateful. The man was too familiar with him, and all too happy to give Ollie a piece of his mind, regardless of whether Oliver cared to hear it. Which was never.

Rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders—wider than he was used to, which felt weird under the leather jacket, and just kept catching him off guard—he passed the doorman into Tommy’s highrise, checking his phone—now that it was unlocked—to be sure he had the right apartment number.

He hit the elevator and spent the ride up carefully not thinking about how everything was _wrong_.

He loped to Tommy’s door, knocked in a rolling drumbeat, and waited. A few moment later, the sound of locks turning—locks? Jesus, maybe Tommy needed to pay for a building with better security if he needed _extra locks_ —preceded the door swinging open.

Tommy stood in the doorway, wearing pajama pants, a dark blue tee shirt, and a silk robe open, his hair sticking up all on one side and his face faintly surprised and a little confused. “Ollie! Hey. What’re you doing here?”

Oliver grinned, trying to ignore the way that question would have never fallen out of Tommy’s mouth _before_ ; he’d have just waved him in. “Hey, buddy!” Oliver moved past Tommy, clapping him on the shoulder as he went. “Heard you were hungover. Came to see what we could do about that. Can’t have my wingman down for the count.”

Tommy shut the door behind him, and turned all the locks. There were at least three. He turned to look at Oliver, scratching at the back of his head. “I was pretty rough this morning, but I’m recovering. Where’d you hear I was hungover?”

Oliver absently tapped his hands along his thighs. “I had to stop by the office, saw that girl Felicity. She said she was texting you and you were hungover.”

Tommy chuckled, but it sounded strangely… stiff. He moved away from the entry and into the well-appointed living room. Oliver followed. “Yeah, I bet she did. I’ve been bothering her all morning, she’s gonna get sick of me one of these days.” He flopped onto the thick-cushioned, modern dark navy couch, looking up at Oliver from under his eyebrows. “She said you stopped by.”

"Did she." Oliver deadpanned, already tired of talking about Felicity. He could still feel her handprint on his cheek. It was probably going to bruise or something, hard as she hit him. Not holding Tommy’s eyes, Oliver shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a light gray armchair and collapsing onto the cushions beside Tommy.

Tommy propped an elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested his cheek on his fist, staring at Oliver. “She did. I got the impression things did not go well.”

Oliver’s jaw worked, the irritation of the conversation at Queen Consolidated climbing up his throat again. “So, what, she’s talking shit about me?”

Tommy scoffed, and it was a little derisive—and directed at Oliver. “Please, she didn’t want to talk about you at all. Which gave me the impression that whatever the hell you two said to each other did not go well.”

Oliver scowled at him. “Fair assessment, if you’re going with the understanding that I complimented her and she slapped me.”

Tommy’s eyebrows flew up, his cheek lifting off his fist in his surprise. “She _slapped you_? Jesus, Ollie, what the hell did you say to her?”

Oliver glared at him. “What the hell makes you think I said something to deserve being hit in the face?”

Tommy snorted, sitting up straighter. “I happen to know you; the women you don’t manage to charm, you’re pretty good at pissing off. And you’ve always been pretty shit at charming this particular woman.” Oliver cracked his neck and looked away, annoyance simmering. “Ollie.” Oliver looked back at him, still glaring. Tommy’s face was becoming less amused and more stony. “What did you say to her.”

"Look, this wasn’t my fault, alright? She got her panties in a twist because I don’t remember being friends with her—which makes _zero_ sense, I mean, come _on_ ,” Oliver made a sweeping gesture with his hand,  “And I told her she was hot when she was mad, and apparently she _cannot_ accept a compliment.”

Tommy stared at him silently for a beat, then scrubbed his hands over his face, muffling a longsuffering groan. “God damn, I forgot what an ass you are.”

Oliver shifted towards him, affronted. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Tommy gave him a droll look over his fingers, then dropped his hands into his lap. “Listen, Ollie, you need to understand something. Felicity has put up with and been through _a lot_ for you. And now you’re treating her like shit you can’t quite scrape off the bottom of your shoe. If I weren’t being _very_ understanding of the fact that you have honest-to-god _a_ _mnesia_ , _I’d_ hit you.”

Oliver jerked his chin up, angry. “Oh really. Exactly _what_ has this girl done for me? Everybody keeps telling me we’re _friends_ , and don’t get me wrong, she’s cute, but  _seriously_? Me and her, _friends_? I can see screwing her once or twice, maybe, but _friends_?”

Oliver bit his rant off suddenly, realizing that Tommy’s face was slowly cutting into lines of rage, a muscle in his throat working in a sign Oliver knew meant he was grasping hard at self-control. Tommy took in a deep breath through his nose, then let it out. “Okay, Ollie, first things first: you ever talk about Felicity like she’s some throwaway _fucktoy_ in front of me ever again, I will take your head off, amnesia or no amnesia. And believe me, you ever get your memories back, you’re gonna thank me for that. _You’d_ take your head off too.”

He stopped, held up a hand to forestall Oliver saying anything, took another deep breath, and spoke again. “Secondly, it’s not even my story to tell, all the shit you’ve put this girl through and that she’s done for you. Consider maybe _getting to know her_ again and _asking her_. Third, _one_ example of the kind of _friend_ Felicity Smoak has been to you.” Tommy stared him dead in the eye, completely serious. “So you’ve been told that with all the hell that happened last summer, when your mom was in jail and QC was about to get gutted, you stepped in to do the CEO thing.” Oliver snorted, head dropping back against the couch back, then rolling to look at Tommy, whose jaw was ticking in impatience. “You needed somebody you could trust in the middle of a hostile takeover to help prop you up while you waded into shit you had almost _zero_ understanding of. You picked Felicity. She left IT for you, left a good job she’s frankly fucking brilliant at to schedule your appointments and collate your reports.”

Oliver barked a bitter laugh. “Are you sure we weren’t sleeping together? Because that sounds like a _really_ stupid decision on her part— _Ow,_ Jesus, Tommy!” He bolted upright, clutching his side where Tommy had just punched him, hard. Tommy glared at him, not even a little penitent. “Fine, sorry.”

"No," Tommy ground out, voice colder than Oliver had ever heard it directed at anyone but his father. It sent chills up his neck. Tommy had _never_ spoken to him in that tone. “She did not do it because you were _screwing her_. She left a career she loved because you _asked_ her, because you told her you _needed_ her, and because she is _loyal_. And the last thing I _ever_ want to hear you say to her is what _everyone_ else has been saying behind her back and even sometimes to her face since she did you that damn favor. You understand me, Ollie?” Oliver stared at him, and Tommy leaned forward, brows drawn together in anger. “ _We clear_?”

Oliver stared at him, shocked, confused, and honestly a little… sorry. He may not understand this whole Felicity thing, may have a hard time grasping the concept of having a place for her in his life, much less one so _important_ , but it was becoming very, very clear that the him he couldn’t remember was not the only person Felicity was important to. And that _had_ to count for something. Slowly, holding Tommy’s eyes, Oliver nodded. “We’re clear.”

Tommy held his gaze for a moment longer, then sat back, the tension slowly easing out of his posture. “Good.”

Oliver scrutinized Tommy as he ran a hand over his hair, looking suddenly very tired. A thought occurred to him, and he had to know. “Okay, so, Felicity and me, obviously… _just friends_. I get that. Okay. And obviously _you guys_ are friends, too. Still weird to me, but hey.” He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, preemtpively fending off Tommy’s raised eyebrow and lopsided frown. “I can accept this. What I wanna know is, you and her…?”

Ollie trailed off, and as Tommy just stared at him, he contemplated demonstrating a helpful pantomime with his hands. Fortunately, Tommy blinked, got a peculiar look on his face that was almost a smile, and barked a laugh. “Are you seriously asking me if _Felicity and I_ are sleeping together?” Oliver shrugged, fixing an expression of innocent curiosity on his features. Tommy shook his head at him, chuckling. “No. No we are not, nor have we ever. What with the whole… Laurel thing,” Oliver winced, still a little boggled by the apparent fact that he and Laurel and Tommy had all bounced off each other back and forth like a soap opera love triangle, “and the fact that she had a thing for somebody else for the last year until recently, that is not a thing that ever even came up.”

Oliver almost asked about who Felicity had a _thing_ for, but decided to pursue a more interesting question. “It ‘never came _up_?’ What, she too small in the cups for you?” He raised curved hands to his chest, demonstrating.

Tommy stared at him, wide-eyed, and choked out a strangled, horrified sounding laugh. “This conversation cannot _actually_ be happening. I am obviously having a hangover dream of the _weirdest_ fucking order.”

Oliver grinned, leaning comfortably back into the cushions and resting his arms along the back of the couch. “No, I’m serious! Okay, so, she’s not our usual kind of girl, but she’s pretty! I bet she’s really cute behind the glasses, and the short skirts do her plenty of favors. She’s got great legs.”

Tommy rolled his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling in something like amused disbelief. “Hell. This is obviously hell. Are you seriously trying to get me to talk about whether or not Felicity is hot?”

Oliver shrugged with his mouth and eyebrows. “What, you wouldn’t do her? I would.”

Tommy looked at Oliver like he was in the process of growing a second head in that very moment. “No. No you wouldn’t.”

"Sure I would!" Ollie grinned. "I’d take her for a spin if she was interested."

Tommy sat there looking like his world had become very, very strange. A mean part of Oliver thought viciously that he could join the club. Tommy gave him an almost pitying glance. “You really wouldn’t, because I’m pretty sure you could’ve before now, and you definitely didn’t.”

Oliver straightened up a little, feeling like a challenge was being placed before him. “Well, maybe I _will_.”

Tommy scoffed, staring at him like he was insane. “I don’t know whether to kick you in the balls for thinking about trying to turn Felicity into a challenge or throw your a pity party, because Ollie my man, that is _never_ going to happen. I said you _could’ve before now_ , as in the you who she was friends with; this you? Dude, you don’t stand a chance in hell. She’d rip you ten new assholes for the attempt and then serve your remains up to Diggle to murder into tiny little pieces.”

"Diggle the bodyguard?" Oliver blinked. "She said they were friends, but seriously? He’s supposed to be, y’know, _guarding_ my life.”

Tommy leaned back and snorted. “For her, he would _end_ it.” He cut a side-eyed glance at Oliver as he opened his mouth. “And _no_ , before you suggest it, _they aren’t sleeping together either_.”

Oliver laughed. “For a girl surrounded by all these guys apparently willing to kill for her, she’s not even sleeping with _any_ of them? Are we sure she’s not just into women?” Oliver’s eyes then glazed over for a second, imagining it.

Tommy stared, unfocused, at the blank TV across from the couch. “All I’m gonna say is that as far as I _know_ , Felicity’s into men. I can count at least two in the past year, but have no definitive proof about any ladies, ever, so. Yeah, we’re not gonna go there anymore.”

Oliver turned and quirked a brow at him. “Two guys? I thought you said she was stuck on one dude for the last year.”

Tommy waved a hand dismissively. “There was a diversion, temporary. They still talk. Some CSI guy from Central City. You didn’t like him.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “I met him?”

Tommy nodded. “And you were a dick. Surprise!”

Oliver snorted. That really wasn’t surprising at all. “Was I jealous or something?”

"Ehhh," Tommy seesawed his hand inconclusively. "I think you were just being territorial. You know how you get." Oliver nodded, conceding; even if he and Felicity were indeed just friends, Oliver never did like to share the attention of people he thought of as _his_. “Besides, the guy was lying about some stuff.”

Oliver’s eyebrows drew together as he contemplated the cream-painted ceiling. “And they still talk? Does she have, like, really low standards or something?”

Tommy made a face. “Well, he wasn’t really lying _to her_ , exactly. Whatever, I don’t think it really went anywhere. And why are we talking about Felicity’s love life, exactly?”

Oliver shrugged lazily. “Hell if I know. Filling in the blanks, I guess.” He scratched at his unnervingly short hair. “So, how sobered up are you? And what club are we hitting tonight?”

Tommy groaned. “No, _hell_ no, in fact. Ollie, dude, look; I know you don’t feel it yet, but we are _nearly thirty_. This clubbing every night shit doesn’t work very well anymore.”

Oliver snorted. “C’mon, old man, don’t make me party alone.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, laughed quietly. “Sorry, I’m ditching you. I have other plans.”

Oliver went very still, schooling his voice and face into a studied casualness. “Laurel?”

Tommy hummed, not exactly a happy sound. “No. I have been consigned to the freeze-out with you, apparently. Which, all things considered.” He shrugged. “No, I’m heading over to Felicity’s after she’s off work. We’re doing a chill night.”

Oliver frowned at him exaggeratedly. “Should I be jealous of her for stealing my best friend? I can fight her for you, these arms and abs tell me I would win.” He splayed a finger over his stomach, still a little giddy over how _cut_ older-him was. One of the few nice things about this bizarre new life.

But Tommy just laughed, a little meanly. “I’m pretty sure you don’t even really know how to use those things, and I don’t know I’d put my money on you versus her. She fights dirty.” He shook his head at Oliver’s fake pout. “I can have more than just you as a friend, Oliver, much as you always tried to convince me otherwise. Besides; she’s your friend too, whether you remember or not.”

The words made Oliver follow an impulse he regretted almost instantly. “Then how about I crash your little party tonight? Maybe it’ll jog this ‘friends’ memory.”

Tommy blinked at him very slowly, his patented “you must be shitting me” look. “I do believe that’s one of the worst ideas I’ve ever heard, Ollie. She slapped you in the face, what, an hour ago? I’m pretty sure she’d give me a matching handprint if I showed up with you at her door.”

"Ouch, fine," Ollie laughed. "Abandon me, then."

Tommy just rolled his eyes. “Somehow, I suspect you’ll find something to do.”

Oliver just grinned, and thought, _or someone_.

**Author's Note:**

> Is Ollie's assholishness beginning to grate? Well, all I can say is, even without six years of trauma and survival, there's more than good looks and smarmy leers to Oliver Queen.


End file.
